Ten minutes pass from 20.00 h, by PA sounds Actress, but nothing else happens. After a few minutes, the contained joy of the 53,000 people who tonight filled the Olympic Stadium in Barcelona to feel at Beyoncé's house explodes. Suddenly a covered golf cart approaches the stage from behind. The screen, rectangular, occupying the entire flooring, immeasurable size, shows a blue sky with clouds. Shouting. The name of the star appears. It is 20.28 h. His image is formed on the screen, a maja with which Goya would have enjoyed. And under the light of day, with crushing security, a piano sounds and Beyoncé says she loves Barcelona. The show begins. Beyoncé in her sauce, in the center of the universe.
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Thunderous but nuanced sound in what would become a gigantic disco. Dozens of voices are heard that are finally seen because in the center of the stage there is a door, Stargate type, but cyclopean, which once opened shows the group. Everything is silver and glitter. Beyoncé, lamé pants suit, blonde and straight hair, earrings with which dozens of VIP tickets can be paid at 3,000 euros, queen. As in her 2016 tour she is everything, the image, the icon, now multiplied by two on either side of the huge circular door. A Babylonian spectacle to divinize it. A montage to show off body and voice.
These keys are kept overnight. If Coldplay told us that you can be happy with little lights and Springsteen with a vest and a Fender, Beyoncé is luxury, party, house, funk and hip hop, gender diversity. Seven acts, as many dresses, almost all silver and shiny as those worn by a good part of the audience, all by designers whose name already costs 25 euros just to pronounce it. Glamour and luxury, dance and ballads, which in an unusual gesture in stadiums opened the night, like that '1 + 1′ that the audience chanted madly. It is not for less, the star is imposed just by being. And that look telling her husband, Jay Z, to take down the trash should be unappealable. If it is in a stadium... a lot of power.
In the show, almost a musical, based on his new album, only partially interrupted by costume changes, was lavish. Very nourished dance corps, between squad and platoon, powerful band and choirs to build a sound that, although it seemed natural, luxurious, but with stitching by hand despite its digitalization. And that huge screen that endured the daylight of half a concert, the choreographies, some on a circular track that moved away from the stage, a moon-like vehicle in 'Black parade' (with the appearance of his daughter, Blue Ivy), that evocation of the birth of Venus by Botticelli in 'Plastic off the sofa', the madness unleashed with 'Break my soul' and 'Crazy in love', those silver hats – yes, the concert seemed sponsored by a brand of aluminum foil – that deflected the lights in 'Formation' and that horse, also silver, in 'Summer Renaissance' dazzled, with her flying over the track with a cape with silver flashes. The sophistication of the queen of r & b appearing to her faithful, those who yesterday lived their great night with the goddess who became flesh and for two and a half hours there lived. Today all aphonic. Except her. A night for the greater glory of black music.